As the Days Keep Turning into Night
by SunEyedGirl
Summary: Peyton Sawyer's process of self-discovery in Season 5 brings her unswervingly back to the one person she vowed to avoid. LP oneshot; set right after 5x09.


**A/N: So I know people were writing Season 5 fanfics four years ago, but I'm a bit late to the party. I hope you'll still enjoy and review! I wrote this story because I got tired of Peyton acting whiny and neurotic all season. I wanted her to grow up a bit. It begins immediately after the 'stuck in the library' episode 5x09 and, as you'll see, maintains some storylines while deviating from others. A main difference between the story and the show is that the whole "let's get married right away" scene never occurs, so the Lucas/Lindsey wedding is scheduled to happen a lot later (say, six months away).**

**I'm from Australia, so my spelling is in British English, rather than American English.**

**The title is from the mesmerising song All My Days by Alexi Murdoch.**

**This is my first fanfic so I'm new to this. I'd appreciate any reviews or criticism, good or bad. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

><p>Peyton beat Brooke home from the game. She realised that they'd probably go out after, those three amigos, Brooke, Haley and Lindsey, to get a drink at Tric or a dessert in the town, to toast the Ravens' success and, concurrently, their newfound friendship. It didn't surprise her that she no longer felt as bitter about their burgeoning relationship as she had at the beginning of the night.<p>

She stood in the middle of Brooke's condo – no, it didn't quite feel like Peyton's too, not yet – and thought, long and hard.

She took a deep breath, let it out, and abruptly flung her heavy bag onto Brooke's polished wood floors, where its contents (CD demos, a copy of _Ravens, _various crumpled press releases and, bizarrely, a piece of stale toast that she'd forgotten to eat that previous morning) spilled everywhere. _What?_ She wanted to scream. _What am I doing, what do I want, what is happening, what does everybody want from me?_

_Think rationally for once_, she told herself. _Think logically and calmly and leave your feelings for Lucas out of it. _For including any mention of those emotions in her thought process was a certain way to unequivocally exclude rational or logical thinking.

Lucas had Lindsey now. It was one of those unavoidable, inconvenient truths. And Peyton, even with all her powers of persuasion and the obvious power that she still had over Lucas, had to accept that.

Whether Lucas was mistaken about his feelings towards Lindsey remained to be seen. But for now, Peyton had to stop the sabotage. Tonight when she was stuck in the library, she had realised that Lindsey, though unnatural and different and just _wrong wrong wrong_ for Lucas, was nevertheless in love with him. And Peyton appreciated now that Lindsey was also a real person, with feelings, and emotions. Like Brooke had said, if the roles were reversed, Peyton could understand how unfair her treatment of Lindsey had been.

Plus, she now felt ashamed of the way she had spoken to her. If she knew anything at all, it was that Lindsey right at that moment would probably be giving Lucas a blow-by-blow account of Peyton's behaviour at the library, and her humiliating mistake about her dead father. To continue her tirade against Lindsey would lead to Peyton's image being further sullied in Lucas' eyes, and that was just too embarrassing to consider.

_So, what now_? Peyton mused. _If not Lucas, why am I back in Tree Hill?_

* * *

><p>"You need something to take the edge off," Brooke had suggested the following evening, doling chocolate-chip ice cream into two bowls with her brown eyes narrowed suggestively. "You know what's the best cure for a broken heart, right?"<p>

"Brooke - ," Peyton had begun warily, knowing where this was headed.

"Sex," declared Brooke, finishing a spoonful of ice cream with relish and smacking her lips triumphantly. "I've got it all figured out. I have dibs on the new bartender boy at Tric because, well, I saw him first, but he's bound to have an equally yummy friend who would be more than happy to take you back to his house after our double date and make you forget _alllll_ about old Broody. You'll stop moping about Lucas, I'll get to go on a date with Owen, it's a win-win for us both!"

"Brooke -," Peyton interjected yet again, half-laughing, but her imaginative best friend wasn't listening.

"Well, either that or I call up Jake Gyllenhaal, he promised me he'd make the visit down from New York sometime soon, and between you and me, he's known to be a _liiiittle_ bit on the looser side when it comes to - "

"Brooke!" Peyton said for the third time, more forcefully, and the blazing look in her eyes stunned the brunette into silence. "I'm not having sex with anyone right now. Not yet."

"Not even Jake Gyllenhaal?" Brooke asked in a small voice.

Peyton, who had never quite understood the actor's appeal, shook her head grimly, and the two friends ate their ice cream in silence.

* * *

><p>Brooke was right in a way though, Peyton thought later, perhaps in a more optimistic mood after a full helping of chocolate-chips. Definitely not about the sex part, but Peyton did need something extra to take the edge off. Something to fill in all the other time in which she would usually be thinking about <em>him<em>.

She had work, and friends, and music, but she also had a little secret void in a little secret spot in her heart, in the place where Lucas usually lived.

And somehow, although it hurt, although it cost her more than she would care to admit, she was going to fill it, because this shell of a person she had become was no longer a genuine, or sincere, or _viable_ version of herself.

She was going to take back the part of herself that Lucas had uncaringly stolen, indifferently stamped on and maliciously thrown away, and become a person she was proud of.

* * *

><p>After the Ravens match, and the simultaneous library debacle, Lindsey sat on her side of the bed in Lucas' house, brooding, and twirling her engagement ring around and around her finger.<p>

Actually, she wasn't really sure if it was her side of the bed or not. Now that she thought about it, she didn't seem to have a permanent side. Her and Lucas would throw themselves, (or each other, she remembered nostalgically), onto whichever side of the bed was there at the time. She wondered if Lucas had a side when he slept alone, or whether he stretched out, snow angel-style, his lanky form sprawled across the whole mattress. For a moment, she wondered sickeningly whether Lucas had slept with Peyton in this bed. Of course he would have. Had Peyton had a side? She shuddered.

Lindsey heard Lucas' car pull up in the driveway. They never seemed to _go_ anywhere together, Lindsey mused. Sure, they were together once they got to the destination, but one of them always had something before or after which required them to take separate cars. Lucas, usually. And as much as Lindsey tried, she couldn't quiet the little voice of doubt in her head. _Does Lucas want to keep his independence, _it asked, and _how often does he sneak off to see Peyton in that car?_

Lucas walked in through the bedroom entrance. He looked windswept, spinning a basketball and wearing a small smile. Lindsey knew if she approached him she would smell sweat and scruffiness mixed with a little jewel of pride at the Ravens' win. But instead she stayed where she was, twirling and twirling and twirling the ring.

"I'm only going to ask you this once," she began, not looking at him, looking at the floor instead.

"Seems to be a common occurrence these days," Lucas tried to joke, but immediately became somber when he saw how high his fiancé's eyebrows rose. He dropped his ball and sat beside Lindsey on the bed.

"Did you propose to Peyton?" Lindsey asked, and her eyes met Lucas' for the first time.

Lucas was caught off-guard. His eyes widened, and he drew in a sharp breath. Lindsey knew the answer to her question before he spoke.

"And where did this come from?" Lucas asked slowly.

"Peyton said it," Lindsey said. "Well, sung it to me, actually," – she shook her head impatiently at Lucas' confused expression - "and she denied it later, so I don't really know what to believe, and I'm _certainly_ not going to trust anything that she says, but if it's true, then that means you didn't tell me that this ring was Peyton's before it was mine, and I'm _really_ not going to have yet another one of Peyton's second-hand throwaways."

She finished breathlessly. She was close to tears for the second time that evening. It suddenly struck her how many things, previously possessed by Peyton, were now in her life. Peyton's friends. Peyton's home town. Peyton's old school. Lucas's book about Peyton. Lucas, in actual fact. And now, apparently, the ring Peyton rejected.

She felt like everything in Lucas' room, from the various photographs of the blonde still dotted on the bookshelves, to the deep, comfortable, secret recess of Lucas' bed, were screaming out _Peyton, Peyton, Peyton,_ and it was getting harder and harder to drown out that incessant chant.

"Linds. Please," Lucas began, but Lindsey was too overcome with tears to listen, and collapsed into Lucas' arms.

"I _did_ propose," Lucas said, more to justify his actions to himself than to explain to the now-sobbing Lindsay. "More than two years ago, Linds. But she said no. She didn't say yes, like you did. The ring was never hers. It was my mom's, and now it's yours. Please. I did propose, but it didn't mean anything to Peyton. And it didn't mean anything to me."

Lindsey didn't respond, but continued to shake with tears.

"It didn't _mean_ anything," he repeated fruitlessly.

And immediately, unintentionally, irrationally, an image of the sixteen-year-old Peyton, wide-eyed, and idealistic, and achingly beautiful, sprang uninvited into Lucas' mind.

"Of course it did," the teenage Peyton whispered, self-conscious of her confession, yet defiant in her conviction, her green eyes blazing into his own.

And transcending the time that had elapsed, and ignoring the history that had passed, and disregarding the assurances that he had said and repeated to all those around him, Lucas knew that what she spoke was as true six years previously as it was at that precise moment. _Of course it did._

* * *

><p>Jogging was the extraordinary outcome of Peyton's identity crisis of the other night. Sure, it was about as un-Peyton-like as you could possibly get. But, as Peyton continually reminded herself, <em>I haven't been that Peyton in three years.<em> And she thought that some exercise, with the high of the endorphins, might be just the thing to fill in the gaping hole called Lucas.

Brooke was positively incredulous when Peyton first stepped out in a pair of gym shorts, jogging shoes and a baggy Led Zeppelin t-shirt, with her wavy golden hair pulled back in a – gasp! – high ponytail.

Finally recovered after choking on her cereal in shock, Brooke asked the most obvious question that came to mind.

"Peyt, you look cute. Don't worry about that. But – sorry – when have you _ever_, like _ever_, in your whole life, done any exercise?"

Peyton pouted. Sure, it had been a while, but there must have been at least one sport in her 22 years that she had excelled at. But what?

She had skived off almost every P.E. class, citing 'female trouble', and gone to the Mall with Brooke. She couldn't catch a basketball, let alone aim it into a tiny hoop. She used to go swimming in Nathan's pool when they were dating, but mostly they just ended up making out in there. Lucas had begged her in their senior year to join him on his daily jog to the River Court, but she had consistently declined.

"I'll get sweaty enough with you when you get back, and we won't even have to leave my bedroom," she would say in a husky voice, wiggling her eyebrows. And with that, Lucas would run out the door and complete his circuit at a near sprint.

Back in Brooke's kitchen, back in reality, Peyton shook out the painful memory. She needed to stop reminiscing about Lucas.

"Cheerleading," she declared definitively, with a hint of desperation. "I was a cheerleader. Cheerleading's exercise."

There was a long pause. Then Brooke scoffed.

"Honey, you were, like, _the_ worst cheerleader known to high school. You basically got into the team because you were the best friend of the cheer captain and the girlfriend of the star basketball player. Please tell me you're going on something better than that," she chortled, now giddy with amusement.

Realising she was never going to win this argument, Peyton shot a contemptuous look at Brooke, turned on her heel and stalked out the front door.

"All I'm saying, is maybe keep the emergency services on speed dial, okay?" Brooke called after her, still laughing.

* * *

><p>Somewhat surprisingly, given Brooke's predictions, running came rather smoothly for Peyton. It was all in the breathing, she thought, and the steady pounding of each foot on the ground, <em>left<em>, _right_, _left_, _right_. There was nothing quite like it.

Once she leveled into a certain pace, and felt the wind on her cheeks, and cranked up her iPod, Peyton soon discovered she could forget all of her problems, and just _run. _It was exhilarating.

But of course when she would return back to the house and hear Brooke recount all of her inane dealings with Owen for that particular day, or when she inadvertently ran past Lucas' house and saw him through an open window laughingly accept a sip of Lindsey's wine, all of her anxieties and frustrations came flooding back as if they had never left.

* * *

><p>In his eyes, Lucas was <em>getting<em> _back to his roots_. He would throw on his old grey hoodie, pick up a basketball, and head for the River Court after dark, dribbling the ball nonchalantly on the sidewalk.

Under the stars, moon, and, inevitably, the blaze of the River Court floodlight, Lucas felt as though he could _think_, which was exactly what he struggled to do every time he sat in front of his glaring laptop screen.

He hadn't seen Peyton in a few weeks, although both Brooke and Haley verified that all was progressing smoothly in the life of their favourite Sawyer. Her label was going exponentially far, they gushed, Mia was a star find, and she was settling in without a hitch to her new home with Brooke. (Lucas, too, had heard their cute-as-pie message-bank greeting, and secretly agreed that there was nothing quite as endearing as hearing those two girls bicker and giggle on a recording for two minutes).

Something puzzled him, however, and even Lucas, master novelist and careful scrutiniser of thought and emotion, hated to admit it to himself.

Ever since Peyton had moved back to Tree Hill, he'd gotten used to seeing her flash of blonde hair tilted towards him whenever he went out. He'd felt with a quiet pride Peyton's eyes following him wherever he walked. Without acknowledging her eyes burning into his own, he had known with a secret certainty that Peyton was watching him. He would never admit it, but he relished in the feeling of being wanted, and, even more shamefully, enjoyed denying Peyton exactly what she so blatantly desired.

But now Peyton had virtually disappeared, and Lucas missed the sidelong glances and blazing looks. He had Lindsey, sure, and although he was certain of his feelings towards his fiancée, he found that her attention didn't interest him quite as much as Peyton's did.

Truthfully, Lucas had begun to miss Peyton again. In mere weeks, Lucas had once again begun a never-ending cycle of yearning, of thinking constantly about one person, and of wanting to be wanted: that ominous trifecta of bad habits which he had trained himself long ago to suppress.

* * *

><p>Lindsey saw Lucas' night-time basketball forays quite differently. She was convinced there was something he was not telling her. <em>Sneaking out<em>, she believed. _Emotional affair_, she suspected. And so she would call him on it.

Of course, outwardly, to any objective observer, Lucas was doing little more than some night-time exercise. But Lindsey couldn't help but think that with every step he took, every shot he threw, every rush of that evening breeze, he was pulling further and further away.

* * *

><p>So while Lucas and Lindsey jumped headlong into a pattern of arguments, passive-aggressive accusations, reluctant apologies and half-hearted forgiveness, Peyton was building herself back into a semblance of her normal self. Life could never be entirely normal for Peyton Sawyer – that generally won't be possible when you have a multimillionaire best friend, an artist in the studio on the very precipice of a lucrative lifelong career, and are a central character in, arguably, the most popular novel to ever come out of Tree Hill – but Peyton relished in taking control of the few things which mattered most to her.<p>

Perhaps it was the near-constant jibes about her work life that Peyton endured ever since she returned from LA – _Peyton Sawyer, unemployed;_ _everybody fails, just look at Peyton_ – but even the smallest win became to her a proud victory.

When John, the exec from Los Angeles, travelled clear across the country to lure away the artist _she_ had discovered, Peyton felt the compliment. When she managed to negotiate a very favourable contract deal for Mia (albeit with the occasional use of trickery and deception), Peyton felt gratified. When she sent Mia out into the Real Wide World armed with her voice, a guitar and an album of 12 very well-produced songs, Peyton, with the tremulous feeling of one seeing their first child off to school, thought that she was maturing into the show-business-person which John had long urged her to become.

When Peyton paid back Brooke all that she owed, plus interest, she knew she was doing something she loved which was also financially rewarding. It felt good to _prove her right._ And, to top it all off, when Rachel came back into town for that brief and dramatic visit, Peyton realised that, at the very least, she wasn't _quite_ the most fucked-up school-leaver in their graduating class.

"We've got that to be thankful for," admitted Brooke dryly, and they clinked wine glasses and toasted with gusto.

* * *

><p>Brooke sidled up to Peyton in their living room a week later. Peyton was lying on the couch, reading a new novel, written – shock horror! – by someone <em>other<em> than Lucas Scott.

"No more _Ravens_?" Brooke asked, in mock dismay.

"I thought I'd try something new," Peyton replied. "Besides, I'm a bit over romantic fiction."

"Fiction, huh?" said Brooke.

Peyton nodded. Brooke cleared her throat awkwardly.

"So, P. Sawyer, I've been meaning to ask you about this new _leaf_ you've turned over," said Brooke, and she sat down next to her on the couch.

Peyton groaned.

"I love the exercise, although frankly, you were looking a _little_ frail already, and you're doing so great with your label, and I don't want to mess with this new person you're turning into, because she kicks _ass_, but - "

"But _what_?" Peyton said.

"But you haven't hung out with any of the group in a _month_ and we _miss_ you!" Brooke said accusatorily.

_A month_? Peyton thought. _Had it really been a whole month? _She tried to think of the last time she had seen Haley, or Nathan, or Skills, and she simply couldn't. Brooke must have asked her ten times to come out with the group to Tric or to Haley and Nathan's for dinner, but she had been so busy in the studio, or committed to her jogging, or purely exhausted, that she had turned her down every time.

"It's because you don't want to see Lucas," Brooke pressed on, with the condescending air of a psychiatrist giving a diagnosis to a patient. "I get that, and I know. Go cold turkey on Lucas, and you'll stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about him, and you'll stop the Lucas cravings. It's a classic defensive mechanism."

"Who are you, my shrink?" shot back Peyton. "So what if I've been busy?"

"Busy, huh?" said Brooke skeptically. "You keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, we live in a _very_ small town and you're going to run into him eventually. It's called simple inevitability. That, or it's called next time I go out with the group I'm dragging your bony ass along with me. And when you finally do see Lucas, and when you realise that avoiding him isn't going to solve the problem, I hope you'll allow me to say _I told you so_."

And with a final meaningful glance, Brooke swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her with a flourish.

And as it turned out, Brooke's warning quickly came true. Through fate, destiny, or, as Peyton saw it, pure bad luck, she ran – quite literally – into Lucas, three days later.

* * *

><p>It was any other ordinary night. And it was exercise, that unusual defensive mechanism that had sprung up on both sides, that brought them together.<p>

It was quite simple, truly unpoetic: Peyton was jogging, he was bouncing his ball at a run. Both were listening to music (the same song, although none of them ever discovered that particular clichéd coincidence).

Both their heads were down. He was scrolling through his iPod. She was watching her feet pound rhythmically on the pavement, running unintentionally to the beat of her song. He had a drop of sweat between his eyes, in the same spot where he used to get that adorable crinkle. Her cheeks were pink with exertion.

Perhaps if one of them had looked up a few steps earlier, or if each wasn't so absorbed in their music, the collision could have been avoided. As it happened, though, several things occurred at once. The two figures banged shoulders awkwardly, and Peyton burst out with an expletive-laden admonishment. Lucas' iPod fell out of his hand onto the road and promptly split its screen in two, while Peyton rubbed her bare shoulder with a look of deepest loathing at her assailant.

And slowly, timorously, each person recognised the other. An awkward pause, and then –

"Since when do you _jog_?" Lucas asked loudly, and the volume of his exclamation rent the silence of the last month apart.

"Since when do you incapacitate innocent pedestrians?" returned Peyton, still rubbing her arm, but she was smiling.

Lucas exhaled a deep breath of air, and started laughing weakly. It suddenly felt like he'd been holding his breath for a month. Peyton laughed nervously too.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and his blue eyes pierced hers. He placed his hand on Peyton's shoulder, where she had been rubbing before. He looked down at her, with that concerned, wide-eyed look only he could manage to convey. She automatically took a small step backwards, out of his reach. She broke off the eye contact.

"Oh. Um, yeah," Lucas began. Everything felt awkward again. "Look, sorry about that. Before, I mean. I didn't see you. You came out of nowhere. You know, I haven't seen you in a month, Peyton, but it seems like everybody else has. How are you?"

He said this all very fast, in a breathless voice.

"Oh, I'm fine!" said Peyton airily. "Just working, you know. Mia's doing great. Brooke's fine. Yesterday we repainted the deck, it was looking a little scuffed, and tomorrow night we were thinking of cooking paella, it's supposed to be pretty difficult, but Brooke's determined because she tasted it once in New York, so it'll be interesting to see how that goes. Oh, and Rachel – remember Rachel? – well, she came back for about a minute, and _that_ was a total disaster, so - "

She giggled shrilly, then broke off confusedly, unable to remember what question she was answering. She looked into Lucas' concerned eyes.

"I'm doing okay, thanks," she said honestly.

"I'm okay, too," Lucas said quietly.

They stared at each other. Peyton could hear the crickets chirping in the background. It was getting really dark now. The sight must have looked strange to passers-by: two late-night joggers gazing fixedly into each other's eyes. But Peyton couldn't pull her eyes away. She drank in Lucas' appearance, making up for the month she had been without it. His hair was a little longer. His eyes, though usually somewhat squinty, were wide with worry, or sadness, perhaps.

A strand of hair had fallen into Peyton's eyes, and Lucas desperately wanted to push it back behind her ear. He wanted to touch Peyton's shoulder where it hurt, and thought madly that he would like to kiss it better. She looked better than he remembered. Perhaps it was just perspiration from the jog, but she looked glowing, somehow. Ethereal.

And as if by default, he looked down at her legs, and with an inward groan he realised he had never seen her in such skimpy running shorts.

"You know, I really don't understand why you're jogging. Your legs are looking even more chicken-y than usual, Peyt," he murmured without thinking.

Immediately, the atmosphere broke. Peyton winced. Lucas grimaced. The old phrase hit her like a ton of bricks. She took another step back. She felt guilty for some reason, like a child who knows it is doing something punishable. Like she was dirty all over. Suddenly, she wanted to be anywhere else except there, on the pavement. Anywhere away from Lucas.

"I should get going," she said coldly.

"Wait," said Lucas. "I'm sorry, Peyton. Look, I'm really sorry. That came out wrong. I never should have said that."

"You're right, you shouldn't have," said Peyton, breathing hard. It was like she was looking at Lucas for the first time. "You know, we're not in high school anymore, Luke. We're not the same people we were back then. You've made _that_ embarrassingly clear. So you don't have the right to say that to me. Because now, you've got Lindsey to get back to."

"Peyton - " said Luke desperately. But Peyton was on a roll.

"You know, I haven't _seen_ you in so long because every time I do, you somehow manage to remind me about our past. And just right now, while I'm trying to get over our history, while you're planning your wedding with your _new_ fiancée, – who's just about the complete opposite of me, by the way, thanks for that - I could do without the constant reminders of who we used to be, okay?"

Luke looked dumbstruck. Peyton couldn't stop.

"So how about next time we both stick to the right side of the path. That way we never have to see each other again."

"But… what if we're going in the same direction?" asked Luke.

"We're never going in the same direction again, Luke," said Peyton forcefully. "Not anymore."

"Peyton - "

"Go home to your _fiancée_, Luke," Peyton said. Wordlessly, she picked up Lucas' broken iPod, thrust it roughly into his hands, and left the way she came.

* * *

><p>Neither Peyton nor Lucas mentioned their clumsy reunion to their respective housemates, Brooke or Lindsey. Instead, each of the blondes leapt back into their work with even more enthusiasm.<p>

Peyton managed Mia's tour from afar, working persistently, meticulously, obsessively. The slightest problem or unreasonable demand consumed her entirely; she found herself constantly negotiating with John's office in LA, trying to assert pedantic control over every aspect of Mia's contract.

She congratulated herself on getting over Lucas. Her speech to him the other night proved, she thought, that she was now totally free.

And then she accidentally saw Lindsey trying on her wedding dress at Brooke's store and almost threw up in disgust. Brooke even had to sit her down after Lindsey had left and placate her, speaking softly in her raspy, oddly soothing voice.

Meanwhile, Brooke's pleas were now alternating somewhere between whiny guilt trips and subtle threats of violence, so Peyton reluctantly consented to going out with the group again.

Accordingly, she was forced into seeing Lucas much more often, but their conversations (when she couldn't escape out of them) wholly consisted of polite chat on uncontroversial topics, like work, and the new book, and Jamie. They were, for the most part, distant acquaintances with no more than a courteous interest in each other's lives. Their chance encounter after dark was entirely ignored.

Occasionally, though, something happened which would cause, for the briefest of moments, one person to remember.

Often Peyton would be interrupted by a frustrating call from work and she'd have to excuse herself from the conversation to shout down John on the line for a few minutes. She would gesture, and stamp her foot, and hit her forehead with her hand angrily. When this happened, she would see Lucas looking at her from across the room, grinning at how cutely animated she was.

Then she'd return, and Lucas would look into her eyes for a moment, chuckling. And Peyton would look back at him, with a tired sigh and a weak chuckle.

"Sorry," she would say. "Work's just – busy."

"Looks like it," Luke would reply. "You just seem… really involved. Committed. Like you're invested in something you love. It's - "

But before Lucas could complete his praise, and before the moment could become too sentimental, Peyton would clear her throat and turn back to a more generic subject.

* * *

><p>Lucas, meanwhile, delved into his new novel, writing about longing and aching and guilt. Things with Lindsey weren't great, but he now carried only a vague hope that they would improve. He tolerated her, and did all the things a good fiancé would do, but his heart wasn't fully in it.<p>

Then Dan got out of prison, and Lindsey wanted to talk to Lucas constantly about how he felt, while Lucas knew there was only one girl he desperately wanted to speak to (hint – it wasn't his fiancée).

Peyton, too, found out about Dan's release and secretly longed to talk to Lucas, to find out if he was okay. But to do that was to delve into the deeply intimate, which was adverse to her embargo on discussing anything personal with Lucas.

* * *

><p>His name was Pete, which followed in Peyton's quirky tradition of dating guys with one-syllable names (Nate, Jake, Luke, anyone?). He had wide shoulders, curly brown hair, and brown eyes. Most controversially, he was taller – and broader - than Lucas.<p>

He busked in the late afternoons on the Tree Hill boardwalk. Peyton jogged past him for over a week, slowing down long enough to hear him crooning softly on acoustic guitar to his own slow, melodic compositions. He played with a constant, shy smile, absorbed in his music, sounding like some kind of heavenly cross between Jack Johnson and Alexi Murdoch.

Eventually, Peyton started bringing a few coins to toss in on her run past, for which he would always murmur a quiet "thank you" and a smile a self-conscious grin. One day, Peyton tossed in her business card as well.

"I run a small label," she whispered. "I'd love to chat sometime."

He merely shook his head ruefully, chuckling, and played on, his large hands strumming the guitar carefully.

Over the weeks, Pete kept playing, and Peyton kept jogging. She didn't hear from him at the label, but the few verses of song she heard as she ran past every day made her momentarily blissful, and that was enough.

His music became almost a drug – something she had to have every afternoon, but didn't necessarily acknowledge or appreciate during other times of the day.

So Peyton was hardly expecting to see him when he walked into her office one Friday morning.

"The bar guy downstairs pointed me up," he explained shyly. "I hope it's okay that I'm here."

"Hi! Yeah, of course! I'm Peyton," she said, dropping her momentary surprise and grasping his hand with her own. "I'm a _huge_ fan of yours, dude."

"I'm Pete. Thanks, but, I more just do that kind of thing for fun," he said bashfully.

"Well, you're really talented, and we've got a little recording studio here. Red Bedroom Records. I'm the founder and director. I'd love to record a few demos of your work."

It transpired that Pete was much too shy and self-conscious to consider recording or playing his music for an audience. Busking, he said, was just about his limit. And Peyton could accept and respect that. Musicians, she thought, came in all forms. Besides, she secretly liked keeping his music all to herself. His music touched her to her core, in a strangely profound way.

"What I actually came here to ask," he said, looking at Peyton hesitantly, "was if you might like to grab dinner with me sometime."

A beat. Peyton considered. She realised that her answer would be the difference between leaping over a looming obstacle gracefully, or clumsily crashing into it headfirst. A deep breath, and then -

"Sure. That sounds great," she said, her heart beating eagerly, or apprehensively, or both.

* * *

><p>At 26, Pete was older than Peyton and her friends. He finished his law degree at 25 and immediately followed his college girlfriend, who grew up in Tree Hill, back to her hometown to settle down.<p>

Frivolous as couples in their twenties can be (don't I know about that, thought Peyton), the relationship soon fizzled. Pete, having fallen hard for the quiet town, decided to set up his solicitor's practice on the main street. He mostly dealt with wills and property transfers, which meant he almost always had a steady stream of work coming through.

"People all die, and people all buy and sell houses," he told Peyton seriously, and she agreed it was a true, if albeit blunt, appraisal.

And in the afternoons Pete took to the boardwalk, and released all the beautiful melodies and lyrics that had been whirling around in his head all day in between testamentary dispositions and trustees and title deeds.

It had been two months since Peyton and Pete had gone on their first date. Pete was quiet and broody (Peyton repeatedly cursed her taste in men) but he was likewise bitingly clever and viciously funny.

He could merge from a conversation about Brooke's latest zany idea (Clothes Over Bro's for pets, any takers?) to a contentious political discussion without batting an eyelid, all the while providing Peyton with insightful advice and suggestions.

Peyton felt smarter with Pete. She felt validated, as if he appreciated and prized her opinion. And most of all, she felt like she had a boyfriend again, which was probably the most bizarre notion she had ever had to comprehend.

_A boyfriend…who isn't Lucas_. It was decidedly unnatural. Four years ago, she would have thought it impossible. She still struggled with the concept every day.

But Lucas' wedding date crept up sooner and sooner: a vicious, poison, ever-growing weed that refused to be uprooted, and the thought of that was similarly unnatural.

So she laughed with Pete, and engaged with his opinions, and acted the perfect girlfriend. Peyton was good at it. She had done it before, quite convincingly.

But in her rare moments alone, away from Brooke's babbles and Pete's seductive music and the sheer weight of it all, she simply could not shake off the feeling that she was acting in another character's role, in a role never meant for her.

Peyton was once again playing the part of a girl who was free, and young, and not yet encumbered by the immense burden of love, within a foreign, unfamiliar play in which she was never meant to be cast.

* * *

><p>Haley let herself into Lucas' room in the same way she'd been doing for fifteen years: self-assuredly, without knocking, knowing she was welcomed, knowing she was loved.<p>

Lucas, procrastinating on his laptop, looked up and smiled lazily at his visitor. He could remember all the different evolutions of Haley: Haley at nine, her overalls missing a button; Haley at 16, the only teenager who could uniquely pull off a rainbow poncho; Haley at 19, on summer break from college, carrying a gurgling Jamie who would delightedly reach his plump arms out towards his uncle; Haley at 22, now a mother, a wife, a nurturer, a rock star.

The wide world, in its unpredictability, its malevolence, would loom outside, but once Haley shut the red door in Lucas' room and flopped down onto the bed, somehow everything remained the same.

That was the way it was with Peyton, Lucas realised. Outside distractions – fiancées, internships, book tours, cross-country flights – all of it was irrelevant the instant he and Peyton shut the red door. All of it didn't matter in the face of the underlying yet achingly bare truth. _I was now, and would always be, in love with Peyton Sawyer._

"So spill. Out with it. I know your secret," Haley said dangerously, interrupting Lucas completely from his chain of thought.

Lucas jumped, spilling coffee on his laptop.

"Um, what?" he asked quickly. _Haley James Scott, mind reader?_

"This whole bachelor-bachelorette party you and Lindsey have concocted. You're not fooling anyone. They're at exactly the same place, aren't they?"

Lucas breathed out_. _Thankfully, Haley knew the least of his secrets_._ "Nothing gets past you, Hales," he said in mock resignation.

"And right now Nathan is…?" asked Haley.

"Out getting supplies," Lucas said, smiling. "He guessed our plan as well. He's all for it, surprisingly. "

"And this whole thing is …?" Haley asked.

"A ruse to get you and Nathan back together," Lucas said, even more cheerfully. "By tricking you into the same house, we're forcing you two to talk."

"Good to know," said Haley brightly. "And is there any way - "

"To get out of it? Not a chance," said Lucas. "Oh, and even though you both know about it now, would you mind acting surprised in front of the guests? It would be _so _much more entertaining."

"Speaking of the guests, I feel like I should be doing more organising," said Haley. "I mean, if I was a guy, I'd totally be your best man, right? And it is your bachelor party, even if it's also a ruse. So put me to work. How can I help?"

"Well, you can take a look at the guest list," replied Lucas. "I did my best, but even I find it hard to keep up with Brooke's latest boyfriend, and it's difficult for Lindsey, because she doesn't know most of our friends too well yet."

"Okay, let me see," said Haley, and Lucas handed her a handwritten list. "Skills, Mouth, Peyton, Brooke, Junk, Fergie…oh, you forgot Owen – that's Brooke's new boyfriend – and Chase is back in town, it would be nice to see him again, and Mia if she can make it back, oh, and Pete, of course."

Lucas smirked.

"Who's Pete, Brooke's personal trainer? Her masseuse? Her stockbroker?"

"Pete?" said Haley blankly. "Pete is Peyton's boyfriend, Luke. Her new boyfriend. You know that."

It would be a cliché to say that Lucas' vision went blurry, fuzzy, for just a moment, but that's exactly what happened. He felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. If someone asked him to choose between hearing the news Haley had just relayed and being punched in the stomach, he would have taken the hit.

And it occurred to him like a slap in the face that Peyton had been feeling the same way for months.

_What have I done?_ He thought. _What have I set in motion here?_

He set his face. His mouth was a long, thin line. He turned to Haley.

"Her boyfriend?" he said, his eyes narrowed.

Haley stood up abruptly. Her face radiated pure anger. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous.

"Listen to me, Lucas. You better not have the _nerve_ to act surprised about this. Peyton is a single, young, _beautiful_ woman. If you ask me, it was long overdue that she finally got over you. And it looks like she has. And if you _dare_ to be jealous about that, then you don't deserve either Peyton or Lindsey, and I'll be the first to tell them that."

She held his gaze harshly, and Lucas felt himself cower, ashamed.

Haley picked up the guest list, wrote a scrawled _PETE_ next to Peyton's name, threw the list on Luke's bed, and stormed out of his bedroom.

* * *

><p>The party was in full swing when Lucas and Lindsey arrived. Jamie on air guitar. Brooke and Skills raiding the bar fridge. Nathan and Haley speaking quietly in the corner. And Peyton –<p>

Lucas stopped short, gazing at her in utter contempt.

Peyton, dangling off the arm of a tall, handsome guy, who was whispering in her ear and touching her hair lovingly.

"He's taller than me," Lucas whispered immediately under his breath.

"What, babe?" Lindsey asked.

"Peyton's new… boyfriend. He's… tall," he repeated unnecessarily.

Lindsey looked up at Lucas, disdain etched into every corner of her face.

"You're not even bothering to try and pretend anymore, are you?" she said.

Lucas wasn't listening. Nothing Lindsey said anymore seemed to faze him.

And the duo walked off in different directions, both starkly aware of the sheer farce in the celebration they were attending.

* * *

><p>Peyton saw Luke coming out of the corner of her eye. And Peyton had a game plan, a strategy she had formulated almost unconsciously, a tactic as old as time. Lucas wanted to fall in love with someone else? Lucas wanted to forget about Peyton, and start a new relationship? Fine. But first, let him see how it feels.<p>

It was cruelly satisfying, giving Lucas a taste of his own bitter medicine.

Lucas walked past Peyton, determinedly not looking in her direction, but nevertheless giving a caged Chester the Bunny (a wholly innocent witness to the current scene) a severe scowl. Then he looked up.

And at the same moment, Peyton whispered into Pete's ear, smiling seductively, and Pete leaned over, closing the small distance between them, and kissed her softly, murmuring back against her lips.

Lucas felt his stomach churning. His fists clenched up. He knew what Peyton was doing, and it was thoroughly working. He was - there was no other word for it – senselessly, insanely, frenziedly _jealous_.

Jealous over a girl who he had long since rejected. Jealous of the person he was three years ago, who would have never comprehended giving _another guy_ even the chance to kiss Peyton. Angry at himself and at the choices he had made which had led him ultimately to this moment. And close to knocking out a guy he'd never met, merely seen, across a crowded room filled otherwise with happy people.

His first reaction was to hit Pete with all the strength he had. His second reaction, even more ludicrous, was to stride across the room and kiss Lindsey right in front of Peyton.

Instead, Lucas Scott did one of the first honourable things he had done in months. He walked out the way he came without a backwards glance.

* * *

><p>Peyton, unlike Lucas, had always known that she was destined to be a magnet. Free to follow her own calling, certainly, but always drawn back with an irrepressible magnetism to her other half when it appeared, wildly joyful in the reunion and stubbornly unwilling to let go.<p>

And so when her feet began following Lucas out of Nathan and Haley's front door, she didn't try and stop them_._

* * *

><p>Lucas was pacing, up and down, up and down, next to the flowerbeds in the front yard. The party had migrated into the back of the house. Lucas could hear the sounds of kids yelling and Haley instructing and Nathan laughing in that booming voice.<p>

And suddenly _she _was there with him, tripping down the porch stairs. Lucas knew how uncomfortable she was in high heels. She had often complained to him about them.

"Give me a pair of combat boots and some black jeans and I'll be happy," she used to say.

"And give me you, in your boots but preferably _out_ of your jeans, and I'll be the happiest guy in the world," he would drawl back.

And with that, he would slowly tug on the waistband of her jeans, maneuvering her to the bed, grinning brazenly all the while.

Lucas raised an arm out to steady Peyton in her heels, as he had done more than once before, and for once, she didn't pull away.

But unlike Lucas' expression, misty with memory and nostalgia, Peyton's eyes spoke only of defiance and hostility.

She did not speak, simply looked, and waited.

Lucas forced a smirk, and spoke sarcastically, derisively.

"Saw you with that guy in there. He looked friendly. I would have liked to meet him, but he seemed – well, otherwise occupied."

Peyton merely continued to glare. Her face had a pronounced frown now.

"So, is he your boyfriend now, or…? Just so I can get a handle on numbers. You know, for my _wedding_."

"I think I've finally realised what you want from me," Peyton said quietly, with a steely smile. Her eyes looked ready to shoot sparks, but she spoke calmly.

"It can't be me, because you had me and that wasn't enough for you. So I'm left with one conclusion. You're after my happiness, aren't you? Apparently, your relationship with Lindsey only works when I'm miserable. Seemingly, you can't function as a person unless I'm hovering somewhere between being completely infatuated with you and semi-suicidal."

Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but Peyton ploughed on.

"But guess what? You can't get to me now. Because I'm happy. And I don't depend on your love to exist anymore. Peyton Sawyer has her own identity, and your _book_ didn't create it. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Lucas said nothing. He felt dizzy. Somehow, he forgot where he was and what he was doing. Peyton was saying these horrible things that Lucas had done to her, and shockingly they were all true. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

Except for one thing. Something which had long since been easy, and simple, and logical. Peyton had told him herself. _And my entire universe snapped back into focus._

He leaned in lazily, as though he had done it ten times already that day, and kissed Peyton at the bottom of her mouth. Just once. Lucas felt her mouth open in shock, and he pulled away only millimetres to scrutinise her face.

Undeterred by Peyton's surprised expression, he again touched his lips to her mouth, and again Peyton didn't object. He deepened the kiss. He maneuvered her backwards a few steps, until she was leaning against the white wall of the house and he was leaning against her.

They were two teenagers again, kissing jeans-to-jeans in the school library. They were clandestine lovers in a lonely hotel room, stealing kisses away from the world's watchful glare. They were two lost 22-year-olds, overwhelmed with life's expectations and responsibilities and choices in the face of an absolute, simple truth.

And Peyton sighed, a tiny noise. Lucas pulled away, and they were nose to nose.

And then the confessions came tumbling.

"I love you," Lucas whispered, boldly, shamelessly. "And I get it now. I _finally _get it, Peyton. It's that simple, isn't it? I love you, and nothing else matters."

Peyton closed her eyes, flinching. Was she in pain from his words? Or was that piercing feeling just absolute relief flooding her entire person like a rush of fresh air?

"I've loved you ever since I first saw you in your cheerleader's outfit across the quad," said Luke, desperately. "And I've loved you every moment since then. But … I've loved you from afar from too long. It's not enough anymore. There have never been enough moments of me loving you from right here."

He gestured to the negligible distance between them.

"I want to love you from up close. I want to be with you, permanently, without anyone coming between us. And I want to shout about it from the rooftops to anyone who'll listen."

"And I know I've been a dick, and I know I've fucked it all up, and I know I've screwed you over royally, and I know I could never – ever – deserve you again, but I need you to know how I feel."

He finished breathlessly, stroking her cheek and looking deep into her eyes.

Peyton didn't know what to say. She was stunned. But suddenly she realised she'd said enough.

These past months, she'd already told Lucas how she felt. Her actions and words had made her feelings perfectly clear.

And now she was no longer the pining, unemployed, unwanted ex-girlfriend to the aloof Lucas. She was Peyton Sawyer. She was wanted, she was successful, and she was valid.

Somewhere along the line she had re-discovered who she was, and she had realised that being Peyton Sawyer was _kinda_ _fantastic._

She had friends who loved her, and she was wildly successful at her label, and she could live quite happily in her independence, in her newfound surprise at this evolved Peyton who _kicked ass_.

Sure, it was naïve to think that she could ever fall out of love with Lucas. Even this shiny new Peyton couldn't fight fate.

But what she hadn't expected was to fall back in love with herself. With the person she had turned into.

There was only one thing left. She leaned in once more and kissed Lucas deeply, brusquely, and pulled away abruptly.

"I don't want to hide anymore. No more sneaking around. I can't live another night apart from you," she said decisively. It was not a plea: it was an order. It was the first of many instances to come of Peyton calling the shots in their relationship.

Lucas sighed hungrily, a pure, bare release. He laughed dazedly, then kissed her again, and it felt like home.

"Do you feel it?" he whispered, pulling away an inch.

"Feel what?" Peyton asked, giggling against his lips.

"My entire universe. Just then. Snapping back into focus."

* * *

><p>For a relationship so long overdue, it was surprising how carefully Lucas and Peyton both took things after that momentous day.<p>

They broke it off immediately with their respective former partners, of course.

For Peyton, it was a less messy affair. She explained to Pete, quite honestly, speaking from her heart, about her history with Lucas and her surprising self-discovery over the previous months.

"I think I fell in love with your music rather than with you," she said contritely.

And in turn, emboldened by Peyton's heartfelt words, Pete confessed that it was not shyness keeping him from recording his music. It was, he admitted, a crippling fear of failure, an anxiety in releasing his thoughts and feelings to something other than a pier full of anonymous people.

"Maybe we can work something out," Peyton said, and they locked eyes and smiled: two friends who understood each other; two lovers of music desperate to bring a trace of happiness into the world.

Eventually, with Peyton's coaxing, and Pete's good nature, and Haley's musical encouragement, they would together go on to make a stunning debut album, its success firmly placing Red Bedroom Records on the map of independent music labels.

The monumental breakup of Lucas and Lindsey, on the other hand, was both messy and protracted. Lucas endured shouting, and tears, and accusations, but did so humbly and apologetically, consciously aware of his appalling treatment of all the women in his life, especially Lindsey.

And then, suddenly, with the slam of a door and the screech of a car, everything was over. Or, thought Lucas, had everything just begun?

* * *

><p>True to Peyton's wishes, they didn't spend another night apart. But neither did Lucas and Peyton jump into anything too big. Commitment, and living together, and all the milestones after that, would surely come, but for now they were happy in the mere concept of just <em>being<em> together.

Peyton technically stayed living at Brooke's, but Lucas was now constantly over there, or she over at his house. Their friends, so used to an antagonistic, hostile version of Lucas and Peyton, struggled to comprehend this new couple who were so overwhelmingly in love. But they laughed, and congratulated, and collectively relished in Peyton and Lucas' newfound happiness, which indeed radiated so quickly into their own lives.

Lucas quite easily finished his second novel, having known poignantly over the last year the meaning of longing and desire, but promptly chose not to release it. It reflected a part of him which he was ashamed to publish, and he was averse to profiting over the reprehensible way he had acted in the past. So he kept the unpublished manuscript in his bedroom, and whenever he felt that side of himself threaten to overwhelm him, he would take out the text to remind himself of the person he never wanted to be again.

It was a side of him which tended to come out every time he saw Peyton and Pete working together on their new record. It was wholly unlike him to not only accept one of Peyton's ex-boyfriends but then to also encourage their continued close contact.

But then he looked at how joyful, and accomplished, Peyton looked every day, and abandon all his jealousy, concerned only with Peyton's happiness. Eventually, he would actually start a friendship with Pete, and he soon realised what an interesting, and unintimidating, person he really was.

* * *

><p>Seeing it was the one action that finally united them, Peyton and Lucas began jogging together. They would start by chatting to each other but mostly end up listening to their iPods, jogging alongside one another: independent in their thoughts but thoroughly content in their company.<p>

They got a dog. She was a 3-year-old Golden Retriever named Carolina that they had found at the pound, only too joyful to be able to run alongside them in the fresh air. She lived intermittently between Brooke and Peyton's and Lucas', and became – after Jamie, of course – the most loved creature that Peyton and Lucas had ever looked after.

One day, after a jog which had turned immediately into a running race, then a tackle session with Carolina which turned immediately into kissing in the long grass for Peyton and Lucas, they returned back to Brooke's.

Brooke was on her way out, but smiled when her two friends sauntered in.

"Oh, hi!" she said brightly, stroking Carolina. "You're back early. Or have you two lovebirds finally been kicked out of the public realm for overuse of PDA? How sad."

"Oh, ha ha ha," Peyton said, but she couldn't stay mad at Brooke for too long. Indeed, she pulled her best friend into a hug, beaming.

"What was that for?" Brooke asked.

"Because you're my best friend," Peyton replied, and Brooke reveled in the simplicity.

"Alright, well I'm going back to Clothes Over Bro's, P. Sawyer, L. Scott," she said. "Lucas, as always, you're welcome to stay over for dinner. Oh, and Peyton - "

Peyton turned to her, listening.

"Remember what I said months ago, about the best cure for a broken heart? Right after the library?"

Peyton thought. She couldn't remember. But Brooke broke into a mischievous smile, and at that moment Peyton, with an embarrassed giggle, knew exactly what Brooke meant.

Brooke closed the door with a smirk and a meaningful wink.

"What did she mean? What's the cure?" said Lucas.

"Oh, just a little something we should have done a long time ago. Something which I can't even think about doing with anyone else," said Peyton, with a cheeky smile. She wrapped her arms around Lucas and kissed him passionately.

"Oh!" said Lucas, catching on immediately. "That!"

And only too enthusiastically, he promptly hoisted Peyton's legs up so they wrapped firm around him, carried her direct into her bedroom and slammed the door, the roaring sound of Peyton's delighted laughter mingling with a stream of Lucas' low, murmured remarks, following and swirling around them like a shadow, like an aura, like a perpetual song of bliss.

**The End**


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